Easy like mornings
by saltedshotgun
Summary: Dad is hunting, Sam is busy with school and Dean is struggling.


**Easy like mornings  
**Dean, Sam, John. Gen.  
**  
**_Summary:_ Dad is hunting, Sam is busy with school and Dean is struggling.  
_Notes:_ Fic is unbeta'd, english is not my first language. Also, this is my first Supernatural fanfiction. Hooray.  
_Disclaimer:_I only wish they were mine.

* * *

Dad leaves on a hunt as soon as one shows up, just like he always does.

"I've got three lined up," he tells Dean, "so it's gonna take a while. Probably a few weeks."

Dean nods from the couch he's lying on, pretending to be watching TV.

"You got enough money, son?"

Dean nods again. He's got a job, he's helping at the local garage, so he can take care of himself. He can take care of Sammy too, mind you.

Sam, of course, is probably on his period again or something because he's slamming doors and wearing that annoyed look on his face all the time.

Dad must be thinking the same thing because he looks across the apartment towards the room Sam and Dean share with a pensive expression. He calls, "Sammy, I'm leaving," and Sam grunts something that sounds dangerously close to, _good thing too_. Dean stares at his Dad as his face darkens before he grabs his coat and the car keys and stomps out of the room.

Dean knows he's supossed to go after him and listen to yet another lecture, but he's not sure if he wants to. He does it anyway, though, because it's the right thing to do. And that is the difference between him and Sam, Dean thinks as he steps out into the freezing morning air. Dean does what's right. Sam does what he wants.

Maybe that's the right thing too, Dean thinks as he crosses his arms across his chests in an effort to keep himself warm in the cold January morning.

Dad shoves his duffel bag into the truck's trunk and turns to Dean.

"Salt lines," he says and Dean nods.

"Of course."

"Don't forget to clean the guns," Dad continues, and Dean nods again.

"I'm not stupid, Dad," he says. Dad nods but somehow Dean doesn't think it registered with him.

"I'm leaving you the Impala," he says and Dean nods, "you sure you all good for the next few days?"

Dean nods again and shifts from one feet to the other. "Are you sure you don't need me to go with you?" he asks and Dad just waves his hand impatiently.

"Nah, what I need is for you to look after your stubborn brother."

Dean nods, starting to feel like the bobble-head they had inside the Impala when Sam was still young enough to like it, and he feels bitter. "Be careful, then," he says and Dad gives him a smile. Few years ago he would have probably ruffled his hair, and before that he would've patted his head, but now he just smiles, gets in the car and drives away.

Dean wonders how long will it take before Dad stops smiling.

He feels his heart twitch a little as he watches the black truck drive away, but Dad's right - there's Sam to take care of.

He comes back to the apartment to find Sam rummaging through the fridge.

"That's our lunch for tomorrow, bitch," Dean tells him when he sees Sam make his escape with the food.

"But I'm hungry now," Sam says and slams the door shut in Dean's face.

Dean doesn't even bother going after him. He sits in front of the TV and waits for the evening to pass.

* * *

Dean leaves for work the next day before Sam gets up for school and comes back long after Sam's back at the apartment. Dean finds him hunched over a book making notes.

"What are you reading, nerd?" Dean asks and ruffles Sam's hair as he walks past him.

"Homework," Sam says simply as he smoothes his hair back. He glares at Dean but doesn't look too pissed and Dean takes that as a good sign.

"How was school?" he asks and flops down onto the couch. He's a little tired because as much as he likes his job at the garage, enjoys it even, it can't be labeled as an easy work.

"It was fine," Sam says with his eyes fixed back on the book, "how was work?"

Dean shrugs. "It's okay."

Sam nods and doesn't say anything else. Dean stretches his legs out, his feet hurting from standing on them all day long. "I'm hungry," he whines, "go heat up something for me."

Sam lifts his head from his book and turns to Dean with his lips drawn tight. "Do it yourself, Dean, I'm busy." He points to his book before turning back to it.

Dean lies on the couch and doesn't say anything, doesn't even think anything. Then he gets up and stretches his arms over his head.

"I'm gonna get a shower and hit a bar, unless you need anything?" Dean says and heads towards the bathroom. Sam just mumbles something that sounds like, _nah, nothing _to Dean, so he just takes a shower and leaves.

* * *

The bar's small and the alcohol's cheap, the waitress is not even really hot but something about the place agrees with Dean. He sits in the corner with his beer and flirts with the waitress that's not even really hot whenever she gets close enough, because it's a _sport_and she doesn't seem to be all that bothered by it. Instead she just glares at him with mild amusement.

"It's only your second beer and you're already hitting on the staff?" she says and picks his empty glass.

"I'm not hitting on anyone, sweetheart, I'm just having a nice, polite conversation," Dean replies with a smirk.

Her eyebrows quirk up a little and she says, "I'm not your sweetheart, honey." She's smiling, though, and Dean smiles back.

* * *

He comes back to the apartment he and Sam are staying at in a good mood. Sam is sprawled over the couch watching TV and Dean pauses.

"You're not studying," he says.

"No," Sam replies simply and switches the channel. It's something he and Dad have in common – they watch TV by switching the channels like crazy. Dean just watches whatever is on at the moment.

"What gives, nerd? Your brain's finally fried?"

Sam glares at Dean. "No, I just don't have any school work that can't wait and it was so calm and quiet here without you, I figured I might relax a little," he says, his voice stone cold but he's smiling and he makes room for Dean on the couch, so everything's fine. At least for that one evening.

It's January 8.

* * *

The next morning everything's back to normal. Dean goes to work early and comes back to find Sam annoyed and strung tight and studying, so he goes to a bar. The waitress that's not even really hot is there again and she says her name is Leah, but Dean calls her sweetheart anyway.

* * *

The days go by and nothing ever happens except work and occasional grocery shopping, usually followed by Sam's bitching about the lack of healthy food. Dean goes to the bar almost everyday now, when he's not too apathetic to even lift his ass up from the couch after he gets home. Sam's always studying and constantly complaining about something.

Dean's not really offended, though. Sam's 17 now, going through puberty like crazy and his midterms are coming, and Dean understands that he's nervous. He just wishes Sam wouldn't take it out on him _all the time_.

* * *

Dean doesn't think things could get worse than they are now – he's stuck in a shitty apartment with a work he's starting to hate because his boss is a giant dick, a brother that's acting like a girl on her period all of the time, and a father that doesn't even care enough to give them a call every now and then.

* * *

Dean's at the bar when Dad finally calls. Leah, who Dean still calls sweetheart most of the time, is leaning against his table since there aren't many customers anyway. It's how they usually spend their evenings, him and Leah and few other people Dean met at the bar, just chatting away about nothing.

"Is that your brother?" Leah asks while Dean stares at his cell.

"No," he says, "it's my Dad."

"Your Dad," Rick mimics and Dean gives him a glare. "Why is your Dad checking on you, dude? Are you seven?"

Dean just rolls his eyes and leaves the table, picking the phone on his way outside.

"Dad," he says as he exits the bar. It's late and the air is cold, it's fucking freezing actually, and Dean's back stiffens. He's not wearing any jacket but he doesn't care right now. Dad's on the phone.

"Dean," Dad's voice crackles through the phone, sounding rough and distant, "are you at a bar?"

"What?" Dean laughs a little, "I... Yeah, I am, I was – " but Dad doesn't let him finish.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after Sam?" he says, his voice harsh and accusing.

"Sam's seventeen, Dad, and practically bigger than I am. He can take care of himself for one night," Dean says and swallows. This is not how this was supossed to go.

"That's not the point, Dean. I told you to watch Sam and you're at a bar somewhere. I thought you knew better!"

It's in Dad's tone, in his every word. He doesn't even need to remind Dean. What Dean wants to say is, _but it's different now then it was in Wisconsin, Sam's not a kid anymore_. What comes out instead is, "I'm sorry, Sir."

Dad huffs and there's crackling from his side of the line for a few seconds, and then he says, "I'm calling because something got in the way, Dean. I'm gonna be outta town for few more days," and Dean's heart sinks a little.

"Alright," he says, keeping his voice even.

"It might take a few more additional weeks. Maybe a month?"

Dad says it like a question, but Dean doesn't know what the answer is suposed to be, so he just mumbles something he hopes sounds like an affirmative.

"Are you two alright out there?" Dad asks, "do you need anything?"

Dean does a little math in his head and thinks, _we need to pay the rent_. He says, "nah, we're fine."

"Good. Call me if you need anything," Dad says and hangs up.

Dean stuffs his cellphone back into his pocket and breaths through his nose for a few seconds, only now realizing how cold it actually is, before he goes back inside and grabs his jacket. Leah's watching his from behind the counter, but she doesn't try to stop him when Dean leaves.

* * *

Sam's whole body jerks when Dean slams the front door of the apartment. He scrambles around the table, collecting papers that Dean identifies with a single glance as college pamphlets.

"Wow, you're home early today, Dean!" Sam laughs nervously. Dean just stares at him blankly, unmoving. Sam glances at the college papers in his hands and slowly puts them down on the table again. "I'm just looking," he says quietly.

"Why am I not surprised," Dean mumbles and starts untying his shoes.

"Listen, Dean," Sam starts, "my SAT's are getting closer and I'm just looking at my opportunities, you know?"

"Save your breath," Dean snaps, "I'm not in the mood to listen to your excuses, alright? I'm not in the mood for another drama."

Sam is silent for a moment before he asks, "did something happen?"

"No," Dean says, then adds, "Dad called."

"And?" Sam prompts. Dean sighs and walks over to the couch.

"Says some work came up and he's not gonna get here for another month," he says as he flops down.

"Uh." Sam's eyebrows furrow, "but that's not too bad, right? I mean, we're managing alright now, aren't we?"

"Yeah, well," Dean laughs bitterly, "you're not the one working to pay the rent now."

"Oh," Sam says, "oh. Okay, I could help, Dean, I can get a part time job – "

"No," Dean says and closes his eyes, letting his head fall backwards to rest on the couch. "You just concentrate on... Reading your college pamphlets or whatever, so you can get as far away from this as you can, 'cause that's what you want, right?" he says and his voice bites.

Sam stands frozen on the spot for a few long seconds and then he says, voice low and even, "that's exactly why I've been keeping it away from you. Because I knew you were going to be a dick about it."

"Whatever, Sam," Dean waves his hand, "just leave me alone. Go study for your SAT's or whatever."

And Sam does exactly that.

It's January 16.

* * *

Dean's boss is a bitch. Dean always knew that, but right now he's this close to punching his teeth out.

"I won't give you a full-time job, Winchester," he says, "actually, I've been thinking of cutting your worktime down. There's not that much to do and I need to save some money, if you know what I mean."

He pats Dean on the shoulder and Dean imagines what breaking his wrist would feel like. He wants to say, _you know what? I quit then, _but he needs the job even if his paycheck screams slavery.

"But," his boss continues, "seeing that you need the money I'm gonna be generous and keep your worktime just the way it was until now." The guy takes a deep breath and grins widely at Dean, looking proud of himself.

"Thanks," Dean says and actually means it this time. Even though he still wants to punch the guy in the face.

However, it wouldn't solve any of his problems.

* * *

Dean feels like shit. His head aches and there's a slight pressure on his chest that has him wheezing occasionally. Sam sits by the table and does school work while Dean watches TV on mute.

* * *

Leah calls him one evening and Dean can't for the life of him remember when did he get drunk enough to ask for her number. He considers not answering, but then thinks _what the hell_.

"Hi, Dean," Leah says and she sounds cheerful.

"Hey sweetheart," Dean replies and then bites his tongue, because encouraging her is the last thing he wants to do.

"Yeah yeah, shove it," she chuckles. "Listen. One of our workers just dropped out, said he's moving elsewhere or something. David, you remember him? Tall, blond, in every sense of the word?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess so?" Dean says and tries to recall any blond waiter.

"Anyway, would you want his job? I mean, we're looking for someone who doesn't study and can be here whenever and you know, I thought of you. Even though you don't come around that often anymore."

For a moment Dean actually considers kissing her.

* * *

Dean doesn't tell Sam that he has a job at the bar. What he tells him is that he's going out again, and Sam just hums in agreement. Things are weird between the two of them now, they're both acting as if nothing happened but it's hanging in the air. To be honest, even though Dean loves his brother he feels better when they're not in the same room right now.

Maybe it will be good for Sam to leave for college. Maybe it will be good for Dean and Dad, too. The only problem is that Dean doesn't know if Dad won't leave him, too.

And he still feels like shit.

* * *

It's Dean's birthday, and Sam is standing in the middle of the room with a huge grin.

"Happy birthday, Dean!"

Dean stops in his tracks, actually wavers a little. The truth is, Dean's exhausted. Between his work at the garage and the work at the bar he's getting virtually no sleep, and he still feels like utter crap. His headache won't go away, there's still the pressure on his chest that makes it harder and harder for him to breathe, and he's developed a disgusting, wet cough this morning.

He's not sick, though. It's just the Winchesters' luck.

"You didn't throw me a surprise party, did you?" he asks and his voice is rough. Sam doesn't seem to notice and just shakes his head.

"No. It's not like you have any friends here, anyway," he says and when Dean's eyebrows quirk up he quickly amends, "or maybe I just don't know them?"

"Whatever, Sammy," Dean says and he's really not offended. Or hurt. Or anything. "Do you wanna go out and grab something to eat before I... Before I hit the city tonight?" he says but what it really means is, _before I go to work_.

And for a moment, Dean dares to hope.

"Actually, I just..." Sam bites his lip, "Dean, I'm really sorry but I have this huge exam tomorrow and I need to study."

Dean's not even disappointed. He was expecting something like that, anyway.

"Whatever, bro. It's not like there's much to celebrate, right?" he smirks and Sam gives him a weird look.

"What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Sam says and he sounds more affronted than Dean feels. "Of course there is. It's just... You know, really poor timing?"

Dean has to give it to the kid - Sam really looks sorry.

"As I said, whatever. I'm just gonna hit the bar a bit early."

"Alright," Sam smiles at him, "we'll celebrate tomorrow, okay?"

* * *

Dean doesn't really feel all that well. He's been at the bar for not even three hours, his shift barely started and Leah's already pulling him away.

"Honey, Dean," she's saying and she's holding him by the shoulders. "You feeling okay?"

Fact is, he's not feeling okay. He's feeling far from okay, in every sense of the word you can think of.

He must have said so out loud because Leah gives him a weird look that Dean identifies as pity.

"Alright, just sit down here and we'll call your brother to pick you up, alright?"

Dean just shakes his head. "Nah, it's fine. I can work."

He tries to stand up but Leah pushes him down again with seemingly minimal effort. "No, you can't. You're scaring customers away."

"What, my cough is?" Dean starts laughing but soon regrets it when it provokes a coughing fit. Leah's just watching him with her head cocked to one side. "Leah, sweetheart, my cough is probably the most sterile thing in this fucking bar."

They're both laughing now and then Dean starts coughing again.

"Jesus Dean, enough's enough. Give me your phone, I'm calling your brother."

Dean's so out of it that he does.

* * *

He closed his eyes for only a minute, Dean's sure of that. For just a minute, a _second_, urged by Leah who was constantly nagging and fussing over him. Just for a minute he laid his head on the table, rested it on his crossed arms.

The next thing Dean knows is that Sam's all up in his personal space, his face inches from Dean's and his hand rubbing circles on Dean's back. Dean lifts his head and wants to tell Sam to back the fuck off, that he's fine, but he moans instead when his head throbs painfully and his stomach clenches.

"Yeah, I think he has a fever," Dean hears Leah say, "I felt his forehead and he definitely has a fever."

Dean can't say he remembers Leah ever touching his forehead.

"Yeah, guess so," Sam says.

Sam's hand disappears from Dean's back and Dean realizes for the first time how cold he actually is. He hears rustling and muted voices but he's too tired to actually lift his head, or even listen. Also, he thinks he might throw up if he moves.

Then Sam's hand is again on his back.

"Dean," he hears Sam's voice. He cracks one eye open and lifts his head so he can see his little brother. His head feels heavy, like it's made of hot lead.

Dean doesn't remember feeling this bad this morning. Hell, he doesn't remember feeling this bad _this afternoon_.

"Dean," Sam is saying again and Dean realizes his head dropped back to his arms. "Dean. You with me?"

"Sure," Dean croaks. His throat feels like it's stuffed with barbed wire and it forces another coughing fit out of him. And _fuck_ it _hurts_.

"Can you walk, dude?" Sam asks, but doesn't wait for Dean to answer before he grabs his arms and pulls him to his feet.

"Jesus, dude. Sam," Dean moans and he starts gagging.

"Breathe, Dean," Sam says, his voice soothing and his grip firm.

"I'm trying," Dean mumbles and it comes out rough and broken.

"I know. Let's get you into the Impala."

It's a mission, and Dean's good with missions. Clean the guns, Dean. Take care of your brother, Dean. Get to the Impala, Dean.

"Thanks for calling, Leah," Sam is saying while Dean's brow furrows in concentration over not puking his guts out.

"Yeah, yeah. Just get him out of here so I don't have to listen to his awkward compliments anymore."

Dean can't remember that either.

* * *

Everything's better once Dean's in the car. The Impala always makes everything better, Dean thinks as he runs his hand over its upholstery. Sam's behind the wheel, going slowly while he keeps glancing at Dean.

Dean's forehead is rested against the window, the cold glass soothing, relieving.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asks. Dean shrugs and clears his throat.

"I'm fine."

Sam doesn't react, only steers the car carefully towards the apartment they're staying at. He turns off the engine and grabs the keys when Dean asks, "will you miss this?"

Sam stops and looks at him. "Miss what?"

"This. When you leave for college. Will you miss this?" Dean swallows despite the pain in his throat. Despite the pain in his heart. "Will you miss the car? Me and Dad?"

Sam leans back and looks at Dean for a long moment. Dean doesn't move, keeps his forehead against the cold window, his eyes fixed on nothing.

"Dean, I might not even be leaving – " he starts but Dean stops him.

"Sam, shut up. I'm not an idiot, not when it comes to you. I _know _you."

Sam sighs but doesn't argue. "Yeah, I will miss things. The car, maybe a little. Dad?" Sam exhales slowly. "Yeah, I guess I'll miss Dad, too. You I'll miss like hell, Dean."

Dean closes his eyes and swallows again.

"But you know what I won't miss? At all? This life."

Sam pauses, and Dean wonders if he's supposed to say something, but his brain's not working right and he has nothing to say anyway, so he stays silent.

"This is not a life, Dean, this is punishment. I don't want this. I don't want this for myself and I don't want this for you, but that's not my decision," Sam says. "I can decide what I wanna do with my life, though, and I wanna go to college. Be normal, find a girlfriend, get a job. You understand?"

Dean doesn't, but he nods. Sam sighs and says, "let's get you inside."

Dean opens the door and throws up all over the pavement.

* * *

Sam passes his midterms with his thumbs up his ass just like always, and proves to be the best fucking brother in the whole world when he takes some of Dean's shifts at the bar while Dean's pathetically holed up in bed.

Dean starts working again as soon as he's feeling better.

Dad comes back from the hunts, pissed and a little banged up, but otherwise whole. They pack their shit and move on to another town.

Life goes on, just like it always does.


End file.
